Despatches from a mother who started late (and is running to catch up)

Escape to the hills

J and I escaped to the hills today while K stayed at home ransacking her Granny's handbag.  We have beautiful hills practically on our doorstep - half an hour's drive took us to the foot of the Pentlands - but usually by the weekend we're too exhausted to go anywhere much.

We parked below Swanston village, found the stony track as instructed in the wonderful Cicerone The Pentland Hills: A Walker's Guide and followed the signpost for Allermuir Hill, barely visible through its carapace of heavy mist. Robert Louis Stevenson, who grew up not far from where we live, also used to walk these hills, which was why we chose this route.

Out of breath, we struggled up the hillside past picturesque thatched whitewashed cottages, through kissing gates, before reaching open ground covered with thick, prickly yellow gorse, and pausing to pick some lucky heather. After I gave my last piece away to a sick friend, I had a miscarriage, so this walk was partly to replenish supplies. I don't think it was a good omen that I had to tug really hard at the stuff, which was oozing sap, before some came away in my hand and I could store it in a special heather-guarding pouch in my rucksack.

We lost our way on the descent, ending up marching across Swanston Golf Club, past blokes in little golf cars wearing golfing slacks. Big walking boots clumping across coiffed lawns. I don't like golf clubs. Last time I was in one was with Granny at her local club, I was six months pregnant, and they threw me out because I was wearing trainers, as if I was some teenage hoodie come to make trouble. I still seethe at the iniquity of it. Nobody accosted us as we scurried across the greens, but it was a relief to escape the manicured perfection of the place. I bet RLS never had to put up with that sort of treatment.

Posted 10 June 2007 22:45

Edinburgh Fun Granny Husband Out and about

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